


The End and The Beginning

by agent_orange



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Break Up, M/M, Moving In Together, Reunions, Surfing, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Acknowledging what they are means there's something to</i> be <i>acknowledged, and something to lose.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The End and The Beginning

Like every other weekend morning, Brad wakes up early, runs to the beach, and goes surfing. But this morning is not like every other morning.

Nate is still asleep when Brad gets up; there's coffee waiting for him in the pot and the paper outside; and the sky's still a pinky-orange. All of those things are normal, usual. Today, though, Brad notices Nate's dress shirts mixed in the laundry basket with Brad's PT gear. Intellectually, Brad knows it couldn't have just happened, but it's the first time he's noticed it.

It hits him like a ton of bricks: Brad's living that boring-ass, normal couple, domestic civilian life (well, half-civilian) that he swore he'd never have after Julie. (It's not actually that boring, what with all the sex and discussions and shit, but now he's getting into semantics and that's never good.) Nate's still got his own place—for appearances, really, since he almost never sleeps there. Brad has no idea why he's so surprised. He absently noticed all the signs of Nate moving in with him. Nate's toothbrush came first, followed by clothing, books, and work stuff all in slowly increasing amounts. The organic food that started to take up valuable room in his fridge. The dress shoes by the door, right next to Brad's own. Nate's reading glasses on the bedside table.

Then he realizes it. Seeing their clothing tangled together reminded Brad of the first time Julie wore one of his shirts to bed. He was nineteen, and it was so fucking hot at the time. The way it hung on her, loose, and yet somehow tight in all the right places...

He needs to clear his head. He throws on running gear and sneakers and goes. He doesn't leave a Nate for note; there's nothing to say that Nate doesn't already know.

*

When Brad gets back to the house, sweaty and oxygen-deprived and sunburned, the sky's a clear bright blue and the sun's high overhead. Nate's car is gone—he sometimes goes into the office on weekends, workaholic that he is. Brad calls him anyway.

"Why didn't you tell me you moved in?" he demands. He can practically see Nate's confused half-smile.

"I assumed that someone with reconnaissance skills of your caliber would have figured that out when I _started_ moving in, but apparently I assumed wrong."

"Funny," Brad deadpans. He hates change, and even though this one is far from sudden, far from unwanted, it doesn't feel that way.

"I knew you'd freak out," Nate says. Brad can tell he's choosing his words carefully. "Which is why I made sure to move in so slowly you didn't even know it was happening. Some things _do_ get past the Iceman, apparently." He pauses, and then adds, "If you need me to stay at my place for a few days..."

"You should come home," Brad suggests. "Unless you want to fuck at work, which is fine by me, but—"

"I'll be there in twenty minutes." There's a dull, heavy click as Nate sets the receiver back in the cradle.

*

As soon as Nate puts his briefcase down, he shoves Brad back against the wall, hard enough to hurt. "Are you really that fucking clueless?" he demands, wounded look on his face. It's the one that always makes Brad feel like shit, and it's not failing to do so now. "Did you really not know what we were doing here?"

"I didn't want to," Brad murmurs. Acknowledging what they are means there's something to _be_ acknowledged, and something to lose.

Nate lets go of him, stunned. "Call me when you manage to pull your head out of your ass." He grabs his briefcase and leaves. The door slams on his way out.

*

That night, Brad gets drunk— _really_ drunk. More drunk than he's been since Julie left him. He starts with beer and moves to Jack and vodka. By the time he finally nods off (around two in the morning), he doesn't feel anything.

*

In the morning, there are no messages on the machine. Brad's mouth tastes dry and stale, like it did in Iraq, and he's vaguely nauseous. He drinks three cups of extra-black coffee and somehow manages to go back to bed. When he wakes up again, it's mid-afternoon and the weather's changed from bright sun to Oceanside's pathetic attempt at a thunderstorm. Of _fucking_ course. Instead of taking his bike out, he tries to read, to take his mind off of things, but all he can think about is Nate.

*  

Brad goes to work and does what he's supposed to do, but he can't make himself put his all into it like he normally does. At Camp Lejeune, he instructs a course in Non-Lethal Tactics Training; after that, he leads a practice dive off the coast of Florida. Pfc. Durant, who managed to get through SERE just a few months ago, jumps too early and has to swim half a klick against the current to meet up with the rest of the team, and it's pitch-black out. Otherwise, it goes well. Walt's doing a good job as TL, so Brad's just there to make sure of that and oversee the dive mission, since Walt's on land for the ambush. He's heading off to scout sniper school in a few days, though. Brad doesn't wish him luck, because that's for the Army; instead, he just says, "Semper Fi," and shakes Walt's hand.

*

It's not that Brad doesn't want to live with Nate. He does. Nate's name on the lease is the next logical step for them—Brad's not a fan of relationships anymore, but he's been in one with Nate for just over two years, and it seems overdue, considering how quickly he and Julie moved in together.

But this isn't about Julie. She's with Tyler now, and Brad has Nate. Nate, who's funny and incredibly smart and slightly obsessive-compulsive, but Brad wouldn't have it any other way. They're good together; they balance each other out. Brad makes sure Nate doesn't panic too much over a big project at work, and Nate keeps Brad from getting too deep in his own thoughts.

And the sex. Fuck, it's good; it's better than Brad thought it would be after this long. Nate may look innocent, but he's far from it. He's found plenty of ways to make Brad squirm and moan and come, and he's willing to try almost anything once.

Still, it takes Brad another few days before he works up the nerve to call Nate; he's so wary of messing this up. He dials slowly, fingers hovering over every key before he presses it.

The phone rings six times before Nate picks up, and Brad holds his breath until he hears that familiar, polite _hello?_

"Come back home," Brad says. "Stay."


End file.
